Copper Buttons
by Peach-Fox
Summary: John returns from a hard day of work to find a comically/seductively dressed Sherlock.


Prompt: Sherlock tries to seduce John by dressing up in a sexy police officer's costume. John thinks it's hilarious.

John was tired. He was exhausted, really. The clinic had taken all of his waking hours that week, and quite a few of his sleeping ones. It wasn't only the physical lack of sleep that the good doctor had grown weary of, though. To his horror, John had noticed himself flirting with his flatmate with increasing frequency. He wasn't doing it on purpose, truly! He wouldn't have minded his subconscious attraction as much, either, if Sherlock had shown even the slightest reciprocity. But the man was like a marble statue (and John wasn't just using that analogy to describe the paleness of Sherlock's skin, or his picturesque figure, or those cheekbones that could only have been sculpted by Aphrodite herself.) John was talking about the coldness of Sherlock, the distance he kept, the unreadable face he wore. It was all marble. And John was tired of it.

John meandered drowsily out of his cab, in through the front door of the flat, and ascended the stairs with great difficulty. He fumbled at the door into the flat for several seconds before succeeding in opening it. It was dark. John flicked on the sitting room light before dumping his coat and bag beside the door. Where had that detective wandered off to? It was only eleven; surely Sherlock hadn't gone to sleep already. He was probably out in London somewhere, doing whatever it was that Sherlock did. Was tea even worth making? John felt as though he might fall asleep into the cup, he was tired enough. He found his body moving to the kitchen.

_Well, I suppose tea it is, then._

John brought his cup of tea into the sitting room and collapsed into the armchair. His eyes drooped as he gazed down into the cup clasped between laced fingers, into the delightful, swirling milky brown liquid (tea really was lovely). John was violently jerked from his drowsy revere when Sherlock's bedroom door flew open and banged deafeningly against the wall. The doctor leapt in his chair, suddenly wide awake, with scolding liquid drenching the crotch of his pants and a large portion of his jumper. The curse he was about to yell died to a strange gurgle in his throat, however, when he caught sight of the man before him.

It was Sherlock. Obviously it was Sherlock, who else would it be? Yes, of course it was Sherlock, but looking a very…_not_-Sherlock way.

"Sherlock," John said slowly. "What are you _wearing_?"

It was a good question. The best question, for the situation that stood before him.

Sherlock was posed dramatically in the open doorframe to his room, long arms resting gracefully on the dark wood. He sauntered a few steps forward, leaving John to marvel at how he could move in those pant- those impossibly, _amazingly_ tight pants! Truly, they were the tightest pants that John had ever seen on any person. And Sherlock Holmes was wearing them. Well. John barely noticed the boots (though they were in themselves quite a wonder) so distracted was he by the copper-buttoned blue jacket that Sherlock wore loosely, completely unbuttoned, trailing suggestively off one of those deliciously pale shoulders.

"You're late," Sherlock replied, in a voice that was (if possible) even lower than his usual baritone.

"Am I?" John rasped. As he had regarded his flatmate, he had been suppressing a pressure deep at the base of his throat, something that had built in his stomach, that was fighting fiercely to escape. He didn't think that he could hold it in for very long.

"Yes," Sherlock murmured, dropping his hands to the chairs arm, and locking those grey-turquoise eyes of his on John's. John caught his breath. He wasn't going to be able to hold this in. He didn't think he would be able to control himself. With all the grace he could muster, John set the tea on the table beside the chair. With his back to Sherlock, John began to shake. Sherlock was initially alarmed, secondarily confused, and ultimately irritated.

"John, are you laughing?" he asked indignantly. John turned to face Sherlock, bright eyed and red-faced and shaking with laughter that he couldn't begin to suppress. The absurdity! Sherlock Holmes- _the_ Sherlock Holmes- standing here before John Watson in what could only be described as a naughty cop's outfit.

"I…I'm sorry, Sh-Sherlock…" he managed. Sherlock drew himself up to a rigid-backed stance. He glared at John from his vertical advantage.

"It's called seduction, John," Sherlock said stiffly.

"Is it?" John gasped, caught in another debilitating fit of laughter. Sherlock pursed his lips angrily.

"I had hoped for a more dignified reception," he sniffed. "If this is all that you're going to do then I might as well change. I think the circulation is-"

John grabbed Sherlock by the wrist, cutting off the detective's words.

"Don't change," John said, his laughter subsiding to giggles and hiccups. "Don't, you look great."

Did John see color rising on those icy cheekbones?

"So this is seduction?" John smiled. He tugged on Sherlock's wrist, pulling the lanky man down so that their faces were only inches away.

"Yes," Sherlock breathed. Looking back, they weren't quite sure who moved first, but, then again, it didn't really matter. What mattered were the two pairs of lips that pressed against one another desperately, and the slide of tongues and sharp intakes of breath and wordless murmurs. It became apparent quickly that the closeness of lips wouldn't be enough. John rose from his chair, lips still locked on Sherlock's, and grabbed the man by his forearms. John steered Sherlock backwards until he could slam the dark-haired man against the wall and press their bodies painfully close and kiss in earnest. John's tongue parted Sherlock's lips aggressively to dive deep inside the detective's mouth, to rake across teeth and lap around the base of his tongue. A small sound, a lot like a moan, came from Sherlock, and John found himself doubling his kissing enthusiasm. Their mouths parted with a loud _pop_, and John's lips dropped to Sherlock's jaw to explore his neck.

"I must be- ah!" Sherlock made a sound when John's teeth found his skin. "Quite the seducer."

His breath was coming in rapid puffs, his hands clutched urgently at the back of John's shirt.

"Is that what you're getting from this?" John smiled against Sherlock's neck. He bit him again, hard right at the base of the throat. Sherlock squirmed.

_Brilliant! Oh, brilliant brilliant brilliant. I'm so glad this is happening. Mmm, what did I just bite? Ah, that was a button…a button on Sherlock's jacket…the police jacket…_

John's mouthing was interrupted by another fit of giggles. Sherlock's breath was quick, and his hands were warm and tight around John's solders. He made an indignant noise when he realized that John was laughing again. The noise only made John laugh harder, and his arms buckled against the wall, and he fell into Sherlock's neck, where he stayed, shaking with amusement. Sherlock draped his arms over John's back and leaned his head against the wall with a resigned sigh.

"S-sorry.." John gasped out. "Sorry, I really am. I can't help it. This is just so ridiculous. And wonderful."

John pushed himself away from Sherlock and the wall. His breath was quick and hard to catch for a number of reasons.

John regarded Sherlock with bright eyes and a comically wide grin. Sherlock looked right back at the doctor, eyebrows slanted in irritation, pupils big and dark, skin pink and flushed and lovely.

"I've been flirting with you for weeks." John said, pressing a kiss (light and gentle and soft) to Sherlock's lips. "Not entirely consciously, for the record."

"I noticed," Sherlock's hands moved to John's head to rest in his hair.

"You said 'married to your work.'"

"And you said 'straight.' And here you are."

"What in the world possessed you to get my attention this way?"

"From various observations I deduced that police attire would most successful in achieving your arousal."

"Who told you I had a cop kink?" John chuckled, leaning both elbows against the wall in case another fit of amusement overtook him. It was true that he had an eye for that blue uniform with the gleaming buttons and the idea of a law enforcer breaking rules. But John would have been attracted to Sherlock regardless of what he wore. Or, better yet, _didn't_ wear.

_Oh, that's right, I'm aroused. _John remembered at the thought of a naked Sherlock. The consulting detective was moving against John in an extremely distracting way, hands roving over the army doctor's body, hips pressing teasingly into John. John put his mouth right next to Sherlock's ear, earning him a little shiver from the detective.

"Where are we taking this now, genius? Any ideas?"

"Seven, so far."

Sherlock extracted a pair of handcuffs from within the cop jacket. John laughed.


End file.
